Liquid Courage
by akat24
Summary: Mr. Schuester wasn't the only one who did a little drunk dialing. And Rachel Berry's not exactly known for restraint when it comes to sharing her opinion. Warning: 99% sure this will be Puckleberry. Finchel fans beware!
1. Message in a Bottle

**Disclaimer: Sadly, Glee does not belong to me.**

**A/N: So I'm more of a Buffy crossover writer, but I've been thoroughly obsessed with Glee and thought I'd take a stab at single fandom fanfic. I hope I do the show justice! Oh, and warning to all Finchel fans, I love my Puckleberry! Takes place during Blame It on the Alcohol.  
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* * *

Rachel let out a squeal as she hung up the phone. She had a date!

_Take that Finn Hudson_, she thought giddily. _Other boys find me desirable and wish to date me._

She pointedly ignored the fact that before last night, Blaine said he was homosexual. After all, they had _kissed_, and it was _amazing_.

This definitely needed to be recorded in her memoirs.

She leapt up from her bed and headed over to her desk, putting the phone back in its proper place before opening the drawer. As she pulled out the jewel-encrusted journal, her eye caught the half-empty bottle of white zinfandel still sitting on top of the desk.

For a brief moment, she hesitated. She had originally used it to bolster her courage to call Blaine. Having accomplished her goal, however, she was unsure of what she should do with the rest. She quickly made up her mind, however.

_No need to let a perfectly good bottle of wine go to waste_, she thought.

In fact, it seemed rather sophisticated of her, sipping a glass of wine as she penned this latest chapter of her autobiography.

With a smile, she began thumbing through the pages of her journal to her most recent entry. She was surprised to see that she had let some time pass since she had last written – before the half-time performance, in fact.

Biting her lip, she began to recall the events she had neglected to enter and winced; some of them had not been her finer moments. Perhaps she should compose a few drafts – in a completely separate notebook – before those particular events got recorded for posterity. To make sure they fully reflected the complexity of those situations, of course.

For right now, though, she would focus on the happier moments, such as her kiss with Blaine, as well as her desire to compose an original song for Regionals.

As she began to write this down, however, she was reminded of how everyone had shot down her idea, including Mr. Schuester. And how once again Finn had done nothing, even though he had agreed with her after the fact in the hallway.

He claimed that it was because they wouldn't have listened anyway, and perhaps he had a point, _but_ it suddenly occurred to her that that it was yet another time he was embarrassed by her, to stand by her no matter what the cost.

She angrily emptied her glass with one swallow and poured herself some more, taking huge gulping sips as she stewed over this revelation.

Grabbing her pen again, she decided to put all her thoughts and feelings on the matter down on paper, as it would be an excellent exercise in emotional awareness. As the words poured out, however, so did her annoyance.

Would she ever come first? And would she ever find someone who wasn't ashamed by her? And what exactly would it take for the rest of the club to appreciate what she brought to it?

Before she knew it, she was reliving every single injustice she had received as of late (somewhere in the back of her mind, Rachel thought that there might be a correlation between her sudden anger and the now empty wine bottle, but it got lost amidst the righteous indignation she was feeling), and it overwhelmed her until she finally slammed her pen down and reached for her phone.

This would not do. She had a few things that she had to get off her mind – and not just to Finn Hudson, though he would certainly get an earful, thank you very much – and she simply would not be able to sleep until she accomplished just that. To do anything else would be unhealthy for her emotional and physical well-being, and that was one thing would not sacrifice for anyone anymore.

* * *

Rachel walked into the school, bleary-eyed from the previous night's libations. She made a mental note not to drink an entire bottle of wine on her own - particularly on an empty stomach - ever again. And would that sickeningly sweet taste ever leave her mouth? Which, she discovered, was only made _worse _by mint toothpaste and not better like she had hoped when she had brushed her teeth in the morning.

As she made her way to her locker, she was vaguely aware that she was receiving many strange looks. Though she felt a little self-conscious due to her current state, this was (sadly) nothing unusual, so she just ignored them and continued on her business.

She had an inkling something wasn't right, however, when she noticed some of her fellow glee members staring at her. They usually just ignored her, or if they did look, it was with a certain amount of contempt and ridicule. This time, however, there was something more… _ambiguous _behind some of those looks.

Holding her head high, she chalked it up to shock – shock that Rachel Berry was finally learning to live a little, showing the telltale signs of a hangover for a second day in the row. Part of her, however, secretly wondered if she had done anything… _rash_ the night before. Especially since she had a hard time recalling how the night had ended.

She had spoken with Blaine; that much she remembered. After that, though, the events became less clear. She had a brief memory of talking on the phone, but a quick look at her call history showed no incoming or outgoing calls. She also vaguely remembered writing something down, so before she had left for school this morning, she had looked at her journal to see if it would provide some insight.

To her horror, her normally meticulous handwriting had been replaced by pages and pages of a rambling scrawl in her otherwise pristine journal. She had been able to make out certain words, such as 'dramatic gesture' and 'insult', but that could apply to many aspects of her life (and unfortunately, she hadn't had time to further decipher her words before she had to rush out the door, her usual timely routine completely abandoned, as it did not allow time for dry heaving or bouts of dizziness).

And now she was receiving strange looks…

She brushed this from her mind. There wasn't time to dwell on what may or may not have transpired the night before. They had a performance before the school tomorrow, and she was determined that this one would not end in failure. Or embarrassment. Or most importantly, _slushies_. Therefore, she had to focus and get through Glee rehearsal today - preferably without vomiting. This would just have to wait.

Besides, how bad could it possibly be?

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**A/N: Sorry this part is so short, but it's just to set the scene. The next chapter will get into the good stuff, like who Rachel called and what she said… **


	2. King of Anything

**A/N: Thanks for reviews, story alerts, and favorites! It made my day and motivated me to work on this next part right away. **

**Oh, and as a warning, Puck swears in my fic. A lot. ****I just don't believe that a self-proclaimed teenage **_**badass**_** would have any qualms about dropping the f-bomb. All. The. Time. Seriously, if Glee were on HBO, I bet that Puck would swear a lot and probably be naked, too. Hmm… *imagining the possibilities***

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Rachel breathed a sigh of relief; she had made it through most of her morning classes without succumbing to the throbbing in her head. And, more importantly, she had seen Finn several times in the hallway without incident. (Admittedly, he _did_ have a pensive look on his face, but he often had that look whenever he saw her since their break up. Or after math class. Or when someone spoke in more than simple sentences.)

In fact, now that she thought about it, she didn't even have that crushing feeling that the merest glimpse of his head towering over the rest of the student body usually caused. Well, perhaps it was there a _little_. And certainly, she was still sad over the tragic end of their relationship, but-

With a gasp, Rachel almost stopped short in the hallway, causing a few insults to be thrown her way in the process. She barely heard them, though. For in this moment of clarity (which was ironic, considering how fuzzy her mind actually was), she realized that she was honestly and truly over Finn Hudson. What's more, upon further contemplation, she discovered that she had been for some time now, thanks in large part to the unpleasant discovery that he and Quinn had given each other mono, as well as his own behavior as of late.

She smiled to herself. She had known that she had needed to move on for quite some time now, so it was nice to see that her heart had finally caught up to her head in that respect.

The prospect of a new beau certainly helped, too. And she was genuinely excited to see Blaine, and not just to show Finn what he was missing – though a tiny part of her could admit that it was very appealing to imagine Finn bursting in on their date, realizing (too late, of course) that he had made a grave mistake, and throwing himself before her in vain. (She was _Rachel Berry_, after all. She didn't do anything half-heartedly, particularly not her fantasies. And she was still upset with some of his comments toward her lately.)

She continued to make her way down the hall, small smile still in place as she staged this dramatic scene in her head (perhaps this would take place after the movie, allowing some romantic moments between her and Blaine in the theater first?).

When she finally reached her locker, she absently began dialing her combination, unaware of the fact that it took her _three_ attempts to successfully enter the correct combination, for at this point in her mind, she was (very sympathetically) handing Finn a tissue and patting him on the back, right before turning to walk away, hand in hand with Blaine, all the while pretending she didn't hear the faint buzzing coming from Finn—

Wait? Buzzing?

Blinking in confusion, it took Rachel a moment to realize that it was not in fact dream Finn but her cell phone making the noise. Unfortunately, by the time she retrieved it, she had one missed call and one voicemail.

It was probably her fathers. They were supposed to check in again sometime today. After all, who else would be calling her? Anyone here at McKinley would just text. Without bothering to check caller ID, she quickly accessed her voicemail, pressing the phone to her ear as she rifled through one of her folders to make sure she had today's English assignment.

"_Hello, Rachel-"_

Rachel's eyes widened in shock and she nearly dropped the phone as Jesse St. James' voice came through the receiver. As it was, her folder fell to the ground, but she couldn't be bothered with that.

What in the world—

"—_must admit, I was surprised to receive a phone call from you, especially since you have repeatedly ignored my attempts at reconciliation. And I apologize for not answering last night, but quite frankly, I was taken aback to see your number, your _home phone number_, no less, flash across my screen."_

Rachel suddenly felt extremely ill. Had she really called Jesse last night? And on the house line? No wonder there was no call log on her cell. But yes, now that she thought about it, that was the phone she had used to call Blaine…

"_While I question your state of mind, as well as your song selection – really, Rachel, a trite pop song is the best you can do? – I am relieved that the lines of communication appear to be open once again. After all, we may very well be running in the same circles at some point in time – if you are able to eventually master your tone quality in the higher registers, that is. Therefore, I would like to propose that we meet and clear the air. I'll be home over spring break, and perhaps we-"_

Suddenly, vague recollections were coming back to her, ones of her yelling into her phone and then singing Sara Bareilles' _King of Anything._

With a small shriek, Rachel quickly pressed the disconnect button and threw her phone in her locker. This was humiliating. What had she done?

"That bad, Berry?"

Rachel jumped and turned, only to see the smirking face of one Noah Puckerman, holding out her forgotten folder.

"He had the nerve to critique me!" she blurted out before she could stop herself, practically shaking in outrage.

To cover her outburst, she grabbed the folder out of his hands and shoved it into her locker. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Puck's eyebrows rise in amusement. He said nothing, however, obviously deciding just to wait for her to continue.

Rachel bit her lip. She knew she'd regret it. But she just had to get it out. Otherwise, she would burst. And she owed him a bit of an explanation, didn't she? After all, she was behaving quite rudely, especially considering he had just gallantly retrieved her folder for her.

With a sigh, she turned to face him. "It seems that I may have made a misplaced phone call last night," she confessed, feeling the blush creep across her face. "To Jesse."

A look of disgust came across Puck's face, and she really couldn't blame him. "St. Douche? Why the fuck would you call him?"

Rachel winced. "While I don't approve of your vulgar language, it does seem fitting in this particular instance. As for why, well, I can't remember," she admitted.

She looked down in embarrassment, fervently wishing he would stop staring at her like that. Then she took a deep breath and looked up, trying her best to muster some vestige of pride.

"I suppose it was to vent some… _feelings_ I may not have had the opportunity to express to him since our last meeting, but I drank a bottle of wine beforehand, so I'm having a hard time recalling-"

"Holy shit, Berry! You had a whole bottle? By yourself?" he exclaimed.

Rachel felt herself deflate again and could only nod, a bit pathetically at that. Not that he noticed. He was too busy giving her a look of admiration.

"Shit, I didn't think you had it in you. You drunk dialed," he smirked. "That's fucking awesome!"

"It is _not_ awesome!" she exclaimed indignantly, throwing in a foot stomp for good measure, even if it did only make his smirk grow wider. "Because now I have a message from _Jesse_ of all people, saying that I not only called him and sang a _song_ to him, but then he actually _critiqued_ it! And me! And I have _excellent _tone quality, regardless of the register, thank you very much!"

Perhaps not too surprisingly, Puck was noticeably unsympathetic to her plight. In fact, if she wasn't mistaken, he was on the verge of laughing at her. Perhaps it had been a mistake to confide in him after all.

Feeling wretched, Rachel took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she leaned back against the lockers. "I don't know what I was thinking at the time," she mumbled, more to herself than anyone else. "It was only supposed to supply me with the fortitude to ask Blaine out on a date, but-"

"What?" Puck's voice cut through her misery, and her eyes snapped open. She thought for sure that he would ridicule her this time, but instead she saw him standing there, looking… annoyed?

Rachel frowned in confusion. Was he missing the point here entirely? Or did he simply not understand what she had said?

"Yes, I needed some additional… courage to ask him out," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "But that's not what's important here. I actually called _Jesse_, after I had foresworn ever speaking-"

She was cut off when Puck let out a snort of laughter. She sent him her most scathing glare.

"Sorry, Berry," he smirked, obviously not sorry one bit. "But you drunk dialing? That shit is _funny_."

Perhaps sensing her impending admonishment, he took the opportunity to saunter away.

As she watched him go, Rachel mulled the situation over. After a moment's reflection, she thought that perhaps he was correct. This whole debacle wasn't _too_ horrendous, and yes, she could admit that it was slightly humorous. And she would've given _anything_ to see Jesse's face as he heard her message, which she knew must've been anything but flattering if her song selection was any indication.

Song selection. Rachel's eyes widened in shock as it clicked. _King of Anything_…

Scrambling, she grabbed her drunken notes from last night (because of course she didn't leave those embarrassing reminders of her inebriation in her _memoirs_, as much as it pained her to rip the pages out) and quickly scanned the pages.

There indeed was Jesse's name, followed by words such as 'king' and 'shameless' and 'disgrace to the musical community'. That wasn't all, either. Now that she had the chance to take a good look, she could see other names and words scattered throughout the page. And now that she understood the context of her ramblings, it all began to make sense – horrible, mortifying sense.

Somewhere in her drunken rant, she had written down her gripes with almost every member of New Directions (as well as a few additional people, like Jesse). And apparently, she went as far as to call at least one person on the list.

What had she done? And who else had she called?

Frantically, her eyes swept over her messy handwriting, desperate to determine what she might have said to people. When she got to a certain part, however, she stopped, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. Almost involuntarily, she quickly looked up to try to catch a glimpse of Puck's retreating form, but he was already out of sight.

Certainly he would've mentioned if he had received a phone call from her? And he seemed surprised that she had drunk dialed…

Rachel took a deep breath. At least she had spared herself that humiliation. She could only hope that she was unable to go through with all the other calls as well. Otherwise, the next few days (or perhaps years) would be extremely uncomfortable.

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**A/N: So I'm considering writing a separate story that goes into each person's initial reaction to Rachel's message – which would include the exact message she left – as well as another story about this strictly from Puck's POV, if there's any interest?**


	3. I Will Survive

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews, alerts and favorites! And thanks to couragetcd, who had the idea for Finn's hippo confusion!**

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Glee club rehearsal that afternoon was a disaster. Their presentation of Tik Tok was looking very pitiful so far, and no one was in any shape to practice. Even Rachel couldn't muster her usual enthusiasm or ability. And, as if the situation weren't dire enough, Brittany (on whom so much of the performance depended) was already showing the telltale signs of stage fright.

Not that Rachel blamed her (much). She knew that not everyone could be the consummate professional she was (and as such, perhaps it was her obligation to help Brittany alleviate any nervousness she might be feeling?).

At least no one had stepped forward with a humiliating story of how she had contacted them last night. Certainly, that may have just been because they themselves couldn't be bothered, as they were obviously still suffering the aftereffects of their most recent alcohol consumption, but Rachel was choosing to believe that it was because she did not, in fact, call anyone aside from Jesse.

After all, there could be plenty of reasons why Tina was glaring at her every now and then. For instance, Rachel recalled with embarrassing clarity the way she had embraced Mike and told him he was awesome at rehearsal yesterday.

And Quinn often shot dirty looks at Rachel. Why would today be any exception?

And so what if at one point during rehearsal Sam and Santana were hunched over an object that look suspiciously like a phone while stealing glances at her? Or if Sam jumped like a scared rabbit whenever the choreography brought them next to each other? That could just be chalked up to sheer coincidence…

Rachel gulped. This was a stretch even for her own vivid imagination.

Perhaps some preemptive 'I'm sorry' cookies were in order?

Rachel felt a flood of relief when Mr. Schue finally called an end to rehearsal. She immediately headed over to her trolley bag and rifled through its contents, pretending to look for something so that she wouldn't get stuck walking out the door with anyone.

When she thought that everyone else had filed out, she finally looked up – and saw Finn waiting near the door for her.

A week ago, her heart would've soared at the sight. Now, however, it dropped. She could think of a million reasons why he might want to talk to her after practice, but deep down, she knew there was only one.

She must've called him last night.

Rachel sighed. She supposed it was too much to ask that she somehow neglected to call him, of all people. After all, he was what had started it in the first place.

Knowing she had no choice, Rachel headed toward him, wanting to get this over with. She just hoped she had not said anything that would damage their ability to work together _too_ much.

"Uh, Rachel?" he asked hesitantly.

"Oh, hello, Finn," she smiled brightly (because she was determined to give nothing away unless she was forced to).

A faint frown creased Finn's face. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, thank you for asking," she chirped. "And you?"

He ignored her question, however. "No, I mean, last night… did something happen?"

"What do you mean?" she asked (and yes, she still had the smile plastered on, even though it was verging on painful by this point).

He took out his phone. After pressing few buttons, he held it out, gesturing for her to take it.

The smile finally fading, Rachel pressed it against her ear, holding her breath.

_First I was afraid, I was petrified  
__Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side  
__Then I spent so many nights, thinking how you did me wrong  
__And I grew strong, and I learned how to carry on_

She had heard enough. She shoved the phone back at him, disgusted with herself. Why, oh, why had she sung the most cliché, overused break up song ever written? It showed a _complete_ lack of imagination on her part. And why did everyone have _messages_ from her? Did no one ever _answer_ the phone when she called?

Thoroughly annoyed, she looked at Finn, who was shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"It goes on, you know. After the singing, I mean. You start talking about our relationship and stuff with Quinn. And then you kept calling me a hippo?" he asked, his face scrunching up in hurt confusion. After giving a quick look around, he said in a hoarse whisper, "That's not cool, Rachel. Especially after Rocky Horror, and, _you know_." He gestured vaguely to himself.

For a moment, Rachel's mind blanked as to what she could've been referring to. A hippo? She couldn't imagine calling him that, no matter how inebriated she was. His body was certainly something she never had issue with. Then it dawned on her.

"Oh, a hypocrite. I, well, I must have called you a hypocrite," she clarified (Secretly, she wondered if in her drunkenness she had slurred the word, or if it was simply beyond Finn's somewhat limited vocabulary. When the confused look did not dissipate, she began to think it was the latter.)

She really wasn't surprised that she had called him that. It had been on the tip of her tongue for quite some time now. Alcohol obviously just dislodged it. Unfortunately, this didn't help provide any insight to what else she had said to him, and he wasn't offering any clues, either.

They stared at each other in awkward silence.

"What I don't understand, is why this song?" he finally asked. "I mean, how _I_ did _you_ wrong? Isn't that backwards?"

Rachel bristled. Should she explain that she wasn't entirely pleased with Finn's behavior these past few weeks, from his pursuit of an obviously taken Quinn to his lack of support of her? Or how calling her a 'needy' drunk the very first time she had ever had any alcohol and therefore didn't really know what she was doing was uncalled for?

No. She wouldn't lower herself to do so, especially since she had a feeling her message last night had already covered this ground. If he didn't understand it yet, he never would. Nor would he understand that the song was just as much for herself as it was for him.

"It doesn't matter anymore," she replied firmly yet compassionately (in her opinion, at least). "That's in the past. What's really important is that you're not what I want anymore. I am officially over you, something you've wanted for quite some time now."

"And a gay dude is what you want?" he blurted out. Catching himself, he gave her a sheepish look. "Kurt told me."

Rachel frowned. She didn't like the hint of a smile tugging at his lips right now. She stood up as straight as she could and stared imperiously up at him (Why did he have to be so tall? This would work so much better if _she_ was the one looking down. Of course, not many people were shorter than her. Perhaps she should plan for this type of scenario in the future? Possibly only venturing into this kind of conversation if there were stairs nearby?).

She shook her head. She could figure out the proper staging for a scene like this at a later date. Right now she had to say some things to Finn, which were long overdue, in her opinion.

"What I _want_ is someone who loves me because of who I am, not in _spite_ of it," she declared, throwing his words a few weeks ago back at him. "And I want this drama to end. I've been so desperate to get you back, I didn't realize what it was doing to me. You said you believe in me, and that means the world to me, truly it does. But somewhere in all _this_, I stopped believing in myself."

"Rach, I-" he began, a frown on his face. Whether it was in guilt or anger, she didn't know. And she didn't want to find out.

She held up her hand. Surprised, he fell silent.

"I would still like to be friends with you, Finn. But for that to happen, I need you to be a friend _all_ the time, and not just when it's just the two of us," she said pointedly. "You said that you didn't speak up when I proposed the original song because it wouldn't matter. But it did. It mattered to me."

Finn at least had the courtesy to look guilty at this. After a long moment, he nodded in acquiescence.

With grim satisfaction, Rachel began to walk away. Before she made it to the door, however, she couldn't resist getting one last parting shot in. She could never pass up the opportunity for a dramatic exit, after all. And he had really hurt her.

"By the way, Finn, you were wrong. I'm not 'needy girl' drunk. I believe my somewhat embarrassing behavior over the past few days has made it quite clear that I'm 'horny girl' drunk," she smirked, even as her face burned at using such a crude word. She did it for a reason, however, and it seemed to have its desired effect.

A broad smile on her face, she turned on her heel and walked away, humming _I Will Survive_ under her breath as she did so.

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**A/N: I know some readers may have been looking forward to a huge telling Finn off scene, so I hope this didn't disappoint! **


	4. The Party Don't Stop

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews, alerts, and favorites! Oh, and the title of this chapter is from Tik Tok by Ke$ha.**

* * *

Rachel bounced excitedly on the balls of her feet as she listened to Principle Figgins introduce the police chief. She was in a wonderful mood. Her date yesterday with Blaine was perfect (she had already started researching local bakeries for Kurt's reference), and she had an excellent feeling about the assembly today, in large part to the bottle of her own special mix of alcohol that was currently making its way through her system.

Yes, she had finally thought of a way to help with Brittany's (and everyone else's) nerves. After all, hadn't alcohol given her the courage to call Blaine? And to finally speak her mind to Finn?

Of course, she took a little creative license with her concoction, adding a few touches here and there to give it a unique flair. Personally, she thought the addition of the Oreos was particularly inspired (and it helped assuage her guilt, as she never actually got around to making her 'I'm sorry' cookies.)

Certainly, it was an… _acquired_ taste, but it went down quite smoothly after a dozen or so sips. Best of all, she now had a tingling warmth radiating through her, and her limbs felt wonderfully loose and relaxed.

That's right, Mr. De Mille, she was ready for her close-up.

Unfortunately, the police chief's slide show seemed to be going on for an interminably long time. (Someone clearly needed to explain to him that sometimes less was more, especially when trying to create a dramatic effect.)

Not wanting her muscles to go cold, Rachel decided to find a quiet, secluded corner to do some stretches in the meantime.

As she walked by the rest of the glee club, she was very aware that certain pairs of eyes were boring holes into her. It would've been unnerving – _if_ she allowed _nothing_ to unnerve her right before a performance.

Still, she was somewhat pleased to see Mercedes and Tina coming toward her a few minutes later, if only because she had spent the latter part of yesterday practicing what she would say if and when she was confronted about her drunk dialing. (While her talent at improvisation may have saved her from disaster with Finn, she wasn't leaving any other conversations to chance.) Her hard work paid off, too, because she now felt supremely confident that she could handle whatever they might say.

When they were only a few steps away, she gave them a winning smile and launched into her speech without preamble.

"Mercedes, Tina. Before you say anything, I would just like to apologize for any comments I made to you the other night on the phone. I was clearly not in a right state of mind. Mercedes, if I believed what Coach Sylvester said about you, then I suppose I should not hold it against you that you did the same," she conceded graciously as the words bubbled forth. "And Tina, I was greatly wounded when you called me a liar, but, as the _entire school_ seems to be under some delusional spell where Brittany is the creator of what _clearly_ has been my signature look for _years_, I am willing to overlook it. Especially in light of my, ah, admiration of Mike the other day."

The two girls exchanged confused (and maybe slightly annoyed?) looks. "What are you _talking_ about, Rachel?" Mercedes asked. "We're here about Kurt."

"But now that you brought it up, keep your paws off my man," Tina warned. "And his abs."

Rachel nodded vigorously, in complete agreement with her. "Yes, I truly regret my actions. But I assure you that I have no romantic interest in Mike, nor have I ever. Not that he's unattractive," she added hastily, not wishing to inadvertently insult Tina's taste in men (or Mike himself, for that matter) in her effort to make amends. "He's quite handsome and extremely talented, and as you mentioned, he has quite impressive ab-"

"Stop," Tina interrupted, holding one hand up while using her other hand to rub her forehead. "Just. Stop."

Taking this as acceptance of her apology, Rachel beamed as she swept Tina up in an embrace. Tina, for her part, echoed Rachel's enthusiasm at their ability to resolve their differences (though Rachel secretly thought that Tina might want to work on developing her emotional range, as the strangled gasps she was currently making weren't the most effective way to convey joy).

"Uh, _hello_?"

Rachel looked over Tina's shoulder and blinked in surprise, for there was Mercedes, staring at her, hands firmly planted on her hips. Then Rachel blinked again, and Tina somehow materialized next to her, her mouth opening and closing almost comically (especially when Rachel realized that no words were coming out).

"Can we stay on topic, here?" Mercedes asked exasperatedly. "We want to talk to you about Kurt. He told us about you and Blaine, and we don't think it's right."

"Yeah," Tina chimed in (her voice apparently in working order again). "How could you poach his crush like that? He's your _friend_."

Rachel looked back and forth between the two in complete surprise. "But Blaine might not be gay," she protested. "It's not like I'm trying to steal him from Kurt."

"Girl, are you serious?" Mercedes asked, her eyebrows knitting into a frown.

"Of course. Are you?" Rachel replied, almost automatically. (Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought that this wasn't the best or wisest response, but once again the words seemed to slip out without warning. Besides, it was an honest question. After all, she had talked to Kurt, and he was okay with this. He needed to know whether Blaine was gay, right?)

Mercedes gaped at her for a moment before throwing her hands up in the air. "We're wasting our time here," she huffed, shaking her head as she walked away.

Tina looked like she was on the verge of saying something, but she turned around, too, without another word.

Rachel watched them leave, idly noting that they seemed happier the last time they were drinking. (She was having serious doubts about Finn's understanding on the entire 'drunk girl' classification system.)

Then she grinned. She didn't drunk dial them after all. It was like a huge weight was just lifted off of her shoulders. Really, it felt better just _knowing_ one way or the other. In fact, why should she sit and wait until people approached her? If she wanted to know so badly, she should take matters into her own hands.

Feeling particularly emboldened, she scanned the room, determined to resolve this and clear the air once and for all.

Her eyes lit up as they fell upon Sam and Mike, who were talking to each other. This was perfect! Sam was still acting skittish around her, and she really should apologize to Mike regardless. She had the words all committed to memory already, except – Rachel began to panic when she couldn't recall the speeches she had so carefully laid out the night before.

Then she shook her head at her own ridiculousness. She never forgot her lines. The words would undoubtedly come to her when she needed them. (Besides, was she or was she not a firm believer that a heartfelt hug could often work wonders, as it did with Tina?)

Confident in her plan, she took a moment to prepare herself, closing her eyes and taking a deep, cleansing breath. Then, she began moving toward them in determination – and ran smack into someone, or more specifically, his chest (because judging by its solidness, it was definitely a male).

As she bounced off of the mystery person, she felt his hands grab her by the elbows in an effort to steady her as her own hands instinctively grabbed onto his arms to avoid toppling over.

"Jesus, Berry!" a gruff voice said. She looked up to see Puck scowling down at her. "How does such a tiny person move like a fucking freight train?"

"Oh! Noah!" she exclaimed, stepping back to look him up and down (though as she released him, somewhat reluctantly, she couldn't help but notice that his arms really were rather magnificent). "I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you?"

He just gave her this look like she had just said the most ridiculous thing ever. Then he nodded in the direction of Tina and Mercedes, who decided to give her one last look before joining some of the others. "'Sup with them?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing, really," she murmured.

Or at least she thought she did. To be completely honest, she was somewhat distracted, having glimpsed Sam and Mike, along with the rest of the glee club, walking toward the wings of the makeshift stage and disappearing. Since she could also hear a series of shocked gasps coming from the audience, she could only assume that the macabre nature of the slide show got the better of their curiosity.

Rachel bit her lip as she stole another glance toward the wings, disappointed that she had missed her opportunity to confront Sam and Mike. When she looked back at Puck, she saw that the scowl on his face had deepened.

She blushed, realizing that she had been extremely rude. Focusing all of her attention on him, she smiled apologetically.

"Is there something I can do for you?" she asked politely.

It was the wrong thing to say. (Or maybe it was the right thing? For some reason, it was difficult to tell at that exact moment.) Either way, Puck's gaze suddenly became intense as he stepped closer to her, so close that their bodies were practically touching.

"No, but there's something I can do for you," he said suggestively, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "How about it, Berry? You, me, your house? Tomorrow after school?"

Rachel's eyes grew wide, her breath catching in her throat. Certainly he wasn't proposing— He had Lauren, and she had Blaine (well, possibly). Then she saw the laughter in his eyes.

"You know, so I can replace all your dads' shit," he finished, as he stepped back ever so slightly.

At first, Rachel felt embarrassed (yes, that was it, _embarrassment_ and nothing more) when she realized that he was just teasing her. Then his words sunk in, and she threw her arms around him.

"Oh, I completely forgot!" she breathed. She pulled back and beamed up at him. "Thank you, Noah! My fathers would be livid if they discovered their entire liquor cabinet emptied! I can't even imagine what excuse I could give them that would have a shred of believability. Well, at least not without some additional resources… or a minor natural event, though that's probably too much to hope for… regardless, I suppose _some_ property damage would be inevitable…"

Rachel frowned. She really would hate for it to come to that, though. Maybe— Puck's snort of laughter broke her train of thought, and she blushed.

"'S cool. I don't want you to get into trouble," he said nonchalantly. Then he gave her a sly look. "'Cuz then you won't want to throw a party the _next_ time they're gone."

She stared at him, rendered speechless by his suggestion. Another party?

Puck raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Oh, please. You can't tell me that you brought a fucking _gallon_ of booze to school behind Officer Scared Straight's back, but you're not up for another party?"

A tiny giggle escaped from her lips and she looked down. That's when she realized that she had never quite fully disengaged from her hug. And that, in mere seconds, her hands had somehow moved down from around his neck and were currently drawing patterns on his chest, as if they had a mind of their own (but really, who knew his chest was just as lovely as his arms?).

She thought she heard him give a low laugh and looked back up at him in alarm. Had she said that out loud? When he gave no indication that she had, she relaxed into him a little (as her hands resumed their activities).

"Oh, all right. I might be," she conceded, absently wondering if he knew just how hypnotic his chest really was. Another party could be fun, and drinking was much more enjoyable than she imagined– she blanched as she remembered the cause of all her recent angst. "As long as you take my phone away from me."

"You're not still hung up on your drunk dial to St. Douche, are you?" he asked with a smirk.

Her hands stilled as she gave him an affronted look. "Of course not," she pouted.

At his look of disbelief, she gave a quick look around them. Once she was satisfied that no one else was listening, she stood up on her tip toes and leaned in.

"I don't know who else I might have called," she said in a dramatic whisper.

He rolled his eyes (quite infuriatingly, she might add). "So? Why do you give a shit?"

She took a step back and put her hands on her hips. "You must be joking! Aside from potentially causing strife between myself and everyone else right before Regionals when team unity is of the utmost importance, there's also the tremendous personal embarrassment, especially since I don't know who I called or what I may have said!" she exclaimed.

He just shrugged. "It's not like they don't make fun of you anyway," he said bluntly.

Rachel winced. Though she thought it a bit harsh, he had a point. And if they cared at all, they certainly would've brought it up by now, wouldn't they? She was being incredibly melodramatic about this. Again. She heaved a sigh and looked down at the ground.

"I suppose you're correct. And at least the damage seems to be restricted to glee club members, as I really don't have the phone numbers for the other potential 'candidates' that were on my list. Can you imagine if I had Karofsky's phone number?" she said ruefully. "Though I can't deny that I would relish the opportunity to give that unenlightened, fair-weather brute a piece of my mind, it would pretty much guarantee that I'd be slushied for life."

She let out a squeak of surprise when she felt his hands grip her arms tightly. Her eyes snapped up to see him giving her that intense look again, his casual demeanor gone.

"Stay away from Karofsky. Something's up with that asshole, and I don't want you anywhere near him," he bit out.

She opened her mouth to reply, but she was cut off by scattered applause coming from the other side of the curtain. The slide show must have ended. Peering over Puck's shoulder, she saw the rest of New Directions returning from the wings. It was show time.

Perhaps seeing that he didn't have her full attention, Puck gave her the tiniest shake. "Berry… _Rachel_… _listen_ to me. Stay away from him, especially today," he said as he studied her through narrowed eyes. Then he seemed to think about something before adding, "Actually, if he so much as fucking looks at you, tell me."

"Okay," she said agreeably, smiling brightly up at him.

She had forgotten how protective he could be. She was on the verge of telling him how sweet it was when the sound of Finn's voice prevented her from doing so.

"Everybody ready?"

Puck immediately released her. "I mean it, Berry," he warned before walking away.

Rachel sighed and got to her mark, thinking it was a shame she didn't get the opportunity to express what was on her mind. (And yet, at the same time, she had a strong sense of déjà vu…)

Then curtain rose, and everything but the performance flew out her mind.

She really did have an excellent feeling about this.

* * *

**A/N: Yep, that's right. I saw another opportunity for drunk!Rachel (well, tipsy!Rachel), and I took it! :) ****I'm not totally sure about this chapter, though, so I'd love to hear what you thought, good or bad. *gulp***


	5. Cry Me a River

**A/N: Sorry for the delay! I ended up writing and rewriting this chapter no less than five times before I was happy with it. :P**

**And thank you so much for the reviews, alerts, and favorites! Also (if you're interested), I've started to post Puck's POV of this story in a new fic, **_**Closing Time**_**.**

* * *

She was never drinking again. It was as simple as that. For she knew that if she ever tried, she would be reminded of this moment, standing in the girls' bathroom, the pleasant alcohol-induced haze nothing but a distant memory as the contents of Brittany's stomach dripped down her face and into her shirt.

Aside from being supremely unhygienic, it was just _revolting_.

It really came as no surprise when she found herself hunched over the toilet a few seconds later, emptying out her own stomach.

She had thought being slushied in the hallway and egged in the parking lot were horrible, but being thrown up on at a school assembly was far, far worse. For although being put at risk for salmonella via Jesse's vicious attack was a truly horrendous experience, one she would certainly never wish to repeat, she had had the last laugh then, as her hair had remarkable body and shine for weeks after that. (Something she had been sure to flaunt when they performed in front of Vocal Adrenaline.)

She couldn't think of a single hidden benefit to being vomited on.

To make matters worse (as if, _somehow_, she hadn't suffered enough), the bathroom door swung open just as she was walking out of the stall, still dripping with vomit, and Brittany and Santana walked in.

Rachel felt her stomach drop. Did Mr. Schue send them to retrieve her? Or worse, had they come armed with cameras to document this particular humiliation of hers (for it did not escape her notice that Santana had a small bag clutched in one hand)? As a precaution, she made certain to keep them to the left of her, for though it was her less photogenic side, there was considerably less vomit there than on her right.

Then she took a good look at them, and she was able to see that both girls looked extremely ill (and yes, she would freely admit that a certain part of her took great joy in that).

Her good mood evaporated, however, when Brittany immediately made a mad dash for the nearest stall and retched, a sound that would surely haunt Rachel the rest of her life.

Once she was sure that she had her own stomach under control, Rachel walked to the nearest sink and began the disgusting task of rinsing out her hair. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Santana go over to the other sink and pull some items out of the bag she had brought.

Rachel was green with envy when she spied the toothbrush, toothpaste, and mouthwash (for while she herself had had the presence of mind to grab her trolley bag during her flight to the bathroom, it did not have her toiletry bag inside, as, in a cruel twist of fate, she had forsaken it this morning to make room for her concoction.)

"Don't even think about it, Cankles."

Rachel's eyes snapped up to the mirror, only to see Santana glaring at her. Both girls looked away a second later, however, as they heard Brittany begin to gag again.

"God, I think you poisoned us or something," Santana muttered as she gripped the sink.

For once, Rachel was inclined to agree with her. (Perhaps the addition of cough syrup was unnecessary?) "Rest assured, it will never happen again, as I'm forsaking alcohol from this moment forward," she vowed.

Santana rolled her eyes at this. "Okay, drama queen, taking it a bit too far, don't you think? I mean, poisoning aside, drunk actually looks _good_ on you," she admitted. Then she snickered. "Of course, _something_ had to eventually, right? It's, like, the law of averages or whatever."

Rachel studiously ignored her and just began to splash water on her face, though part of her wondered if nothing short of death would keep Santana from taking the opportunity to insult her.

"Seriously, your drunk dialing alone is freaking hilarious."

Startled, Rachel jerked up in surprise, a handful of water landing on her shirt. She turned to look at Santana, who merely started brushing her teeth with a satisfied look on her face.

Rachel summoned as much dignity as she could muster (which she thought she did quite admirably, especially if her vomit-stained and now wet appearance were taken into account).

"I called you the other night."

She tried to say it as a statement, but Santana must have heard the question in her voice, for, after a moment of surprise, she gave Rachel a knowing look.

"Yeah," she admitted. "But I hung up as soon as I realized it was you." With a laugh, she went back to brushing her teeth.

Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. "So we didn't talk," she confirmed.

Making a face, Santana shook her head vehemently. "Ew, no. But you had plenty to say when you called my man," she revealed. "And can I just say, listening to you sing an entire _medley_ to Sammy boy about how proud you were of him for standing up to Quinn? Freaking _priceless_."

Rachel didn't know what to say. She didn't even know if Santana was telling the truth. Before she could decide what the best course of action was, however, Brittany emerged from the stall just then, causing Santana's focus to shift.

It was for the best, Rachel decided. After all, her chances for success were much higher if she only tackled one traumatic incident at a time.

Turning back to the task at hand, she cleaned herself off as discretely and quickly as possible. She washed her face and shirt as best she could, but she didn't even bother wasting time on her shirt, as (thankfully) she had the clothes that she had worn to school with her.

She crouched down and retrieved them from her bag. When she stood back up, she was surprised to see Brittany's reflection in the mirror behind her, bottle of mouthwash in hand.

Brittany looked at Rachel's soiled shirt and hair. "Just looking at you makes me want to puke again," she said solemnly as she held out the bottle. Then she shrugged. "It's supposed to kill mosquitoes, too, but I can't find any cups that are small enough."

Rachel stared at her for a moment, completely surprised by the gesture (as well as being a little unsure what the proper response to the mosquito comment was, particularly in light of Brittany's unexpected kindness). Then she came to her senses.

"Thank you," she said earnestly as she took the proffered bottle. (She half-expected Santana to slap it out of her hand before she could actually use it, but happily no such incident occurred.)

Since Rachel believed in the importance of leaving on a high note (and, sadly, she recognized that Brittany sharing the mouthwash was probably as high as it was likely to get for her), Rachel left the girls' bathroom soon thereafter.

She immediately set a course for the parking lot, for although Mr. Schue and Principle Figgins most likely wanted to speak to them, she simply was not staying in school a second longer (and while she would never advocate that anyone skip a class, she thought the severity of her situation here was an exception.)

And of course there was also the little matter of not getting caught smelling of alcohol-laced vomit with the incriminating bottle still in her bag.

Thankfully, the parking lot was in the opposite direction of the gym, so the halls were still relatively empty. It was only a matter of minutes before the hall would be flooded with students, though. In fact, it was probably only the chaos of their performance that delayed their dismissal from the gym thus far. (It was hardly a stretch of the imagination to see Figgins giving one of his prolonged closing speeches. Or to imagine Coach Sylvester publicly lambasting the behavior of the glee club to the student body.)

She didn't realize the flaw in her plan until she reached the parking lot. As she began digging for her keys, however, it hit her.

Though painfully more sober than before, she still wasn't in any condition to drive.

It was all she could do to keep from sinking down onto the pavement. What was she going to do? Most of her fellow glee club members had drunk the alcohol and therefore were unable to give her a ride home (and yes, she was well aware that it would be quite unusual for them to accept her request on a normal day, let alone one when she would undoubtedly leave an unpleasant smell in their car, but she decided to overlook that one detail for the moment).

She stood out there in the cold as she weighed her options. Because they were practically nonexistent, however, it didn't take her too long to decide what to do. With a sigh of resignation, she began walking home at a brisk pace.

It wasn't until she was halfway across the parking lot that she heard someone calling her name.

"Hey, Rach! Rachel! Wait!"

Rachel stopped and turned around to see Finn jogging toward her, a look of relief on his face.

"What are you doing?" he puffed as he caught up to her.

Rachel gave him a watery smile. "In its final act of vengeance, the alcohol has left me incapable of responsibly driving myself home."

He blinked for a moment before nodding. "Oh, well, I'll drive you," he offered. When she started to frown, he hastily added, "I haven't been drinking like you guys. Missed the boat that first night."

Rachel hesitated for a moment but quickly relented. She had no other option other than walking, and between the alcohol and cold weather, she might as well just take a hair dryer to her throat and save them the trouble of drying it out. Besides, if she and Finn were truly going to be friends, then it would be quite rude not to accept his gracious offer.

They walked quickly to his truck, neither one saying much. For one of the few times in her life, Rachel was perfectly content to let silence fill the space around them. She just wanted going home, shower, and then go to bed. (She knew that she could probably channel the trauma from today as use it as inspiration for her songwriting, but in all honesty, she simply wanted to forget this day ever happened.)

Once they were inside the cab of his truck, he immediately started the engine. Before he shifted into gear, however, he groaned. "I almost forgot. Mr. Schue sent me to check on you girls. I should tell Mike to let him know you're okay first," he explained apologetically as he pulled out his phone.

She just nodded and closed her eyes as she leaned against the passenger side window, the cool glass a welcome feeling against her skin. When he started to drive a minute later, she didn't bother to open them, still content to sit in silence.

Finn, for his part, either didn't seem to know what to say or didn't want to disturb her, for it wasn't until they reached her street that he cleared his throat. "So, ah, what's going on between you and Puck?"

Rachel suppressed a sigh. She knew this was coming. "He and I went on a lovely date, and-" Her eyes snapped open as she peered at Finn. "Wait. Did you just ask me about _Noah_?"

He nodded, and while he kept his eyes on the road, she thought she saw his jaw clench ever so slightly. "I saw you two at the assembly today," he admitted as he pulled into her driveway.

Rachel turned red at this. How humiliating to have Finn of all people bear witness to her embarrassing behavior. She fervently hoped no one else had. (Though perhaps it would be in her best interest to enroll in some self-defense classes, as they would undoubtedly become useful if word got back to Lauren Zizes.)

"Nothing's going on between us," she replied as firmly as she could. "That was just an unfortunate side effect of the alcohol, as you well know."

Finn put the truck into park and turned to face her. "Is that the only reason why you called him, too? Because of the alcohol and… and nothing else?" he asked hesitantly, as if he were afraid of her answer.

Rachel stared at him in shock. Surely he didn't just say— "I called quite a few people that night," she managed to get out.

His face immediately flooded with relief. "I'm sorry. I know it's none of my business," he apologized. He gave her a lop-sided grin, one that he knew she particularly melted at.

Unfortunately for him, she was still too stunned by his revelation to even acknowledge it. Honestly, for all she noticed, he could've been wearing nothing but Joseph's Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat (the one from the original Broadway Tony-nominated performance by Bill Hutton, of course, and not the Donny Osmond _televised_ performance).

Perhaps misinterpreting her reaction, or lack thereof, Finn continued talking in a rush. "I mean, he told me how you called him the other night, too, so I thought that maybe—"

Rachel barely heard him, though.

Finn must've been mistaken. That's all there was to it, because she most certainly did _not_ drunk dial Puck. It just—it made no sense. (Not that her dealings with him always did.)

But... if she did in fact call him, why hadn't he said anything? And who else might he have told?

Rachel's eyes widened at this. Yes, some self-defense classes would round out her schedule beautifully.


	6. Don't Cry for Me, Argentina

**A/N: Sorry this update took so long. I got sidetracked writing some Puckleberry drabbles. :P But, to make it up to you, this is the longest chapter yet!**

**As always, thank you so much for the reviews, alerts, and favorites, especially since I don't think the last chapter went over so well. :(**

* * *

By the time Rachel walked into school the next day, she was perfectly calm about the entire situation.

Certainly, she had had a moment of panic after she had said a hasty goodbye to Finn yesterday (because yes, though it may have lasted throughout the night, it was still only _one_, albeit extremely long, moment).

Now, however, she had perfect control over her emotions, which allowed her to see that calling Puck was nowhere near the worst thing she could've done. (Honestly, it was amazing how being vomited on in a school assembly could put things in perspective.)

Because, really, she had called _Santana_, of all people. Puck just seemed to pale in comparison.

True, she found it a little strange that he hadn't said anything to her. And yes, she was a little uncomfortable not knowing what she said, especially since her notes from that night revealed some rather unsettling topics.

But then, the fact that they found each other physically and musically attractive was _hardly_ earth-shattering news. One only had to look to their rendition of Need You Now for proof of that. (Still, as a precaution, she would be on alert for Lauren Zizes-shaped shadows looming over her until she could talk to her fathers about that fascinating martial arts class she had found last night.)

And if she had yelled at him about… certain sensitive matters that had evidently been on her mind lately? Well, she could only assume by his silence that he simply didn't care. And if he did not feel it worth a mention, then neither would she.

Though, really, was it too much to ask that he took _some_ of it to heart?

Rachel gave herself a mental shake. No, she refused to let this take up any more of her time, for she had more important matters to attend to, such as composing her original song.

She smiled as she imagined everyone's reaction when they finally realized the merit to her idea. What song should she sing to capture that moment? (It would have to be something victorious yet humble, poignant yet optimistic.)

Just then, she heard the familiar strains of _Don't Cry for Me, Argentina_, coming from her phone.

Her eyebrows shot up in amusement. Though she was loathe to ignore such an obvious sign (because she believed _destiny_, not coincidences), this seemed a tad melodramatic. After all, she had _no_ intentions of dying before Regionals.

Deciding to put aside this little dilemma for the moment, she quickly answered her phone, very curious as to why Kurt was calling her before school. Before she could even so much as say hello, however, Kurt started right in.

"Rachel Berry, you little vixen, you!"

"I—excuse me?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

Kurt gave a huff of exasperation. "Don't play coy with me, Miss Berry. This morning before school, a certain tall, dark, and conflicted step-brother of mine was asking subtle questions about you and Blaine, and then you and _Puck_," he gushed. "In a completely obvious way, of course."

"Oh," Rachel said blankly, a little stunned by this revelation. (Though really, she should've known, as Finn was far too casual yesterday, something that never happened when they were talking about a certain mohawked boy.)

Then she let out a small gasp as she realized the enormity of the situation.

Kurt essentially just told her that Finn still had feelings for her, and she didn't _care_. Well, yes, she might have cared the tiniest bit but, really, she had been much more conflicted when she had deleted all her 'Get Finn Back' files on her computer the other day (which she had been saving up to that point purely for informational purposes). Mostly, she discovered that she was annoyed that he was doing this _again_.

She heard Kurt make some sort of strangled noise. "Rachel! Do you not hear what I'm telling you? Finn sounded almost _jealous_! Do you know what this means?" he exclaimed, practically shrieking into the phone.

Rachel winced and held the phone away from her ear. She had forgotten that Kurt didn't know about her talk with Finn the other day.

Unfortunately, he continued to rant quite loudly. And forcefully. (In fact, she was certain that there was some rather emphatic hand gesturing going on at his end.) She waited until the shrieking had died down before putting the phone back to her ear.

"Yes, I do know what this means," she replied calmly. "It means that once again he just wants what he can't have. Or no longer has. I'm sorry, but I refuse to enable this unhealthy cycle of ours any longer."

There was a pause on the other end. "Put your hand to your head," he finally said.

"I— What? Why?" Rachel frowned in confusion.

"Just _do_ it," he ordered.

With a sigh, Rachel did as he asked. "Okay. And just why am I doing this?"

"Do you feel hot? Or perhaps clammy?" he asked, ignoring her question. "Because the only way I can explain your reaction is that you're currently delirious with fever."

Rachel made a face as she dropped her hand down to her side. "Very amusing. No, I assure you, I'm the picture of health," she replied briskly. Then she frowned, feeling a little wounded by his reaction. "I thought you'd be glad that I've decided to cease all my pathetic attempts to win him back."

"Oh, sweetie, I am," he said soothingly. "Seeing you moon over him was sadder than seeing your idea of a dress at your party Friday night."

Rachel made a sound of indignation, at which Kurt only laughed.

"Well then you'll be happy to know that I'm looking forward to my kiss with Blaine," she retorted. (It was a _lovely_ dress, no matter what Kurt said.)

There was a pause – one that lasted a beat too long – before he spoke again. "Meet me at the Lima Bean right after glee practice today," he sighed. "If you want your chance, he'll be there."

Rachel beamed. "Thank you, Kurt! That would be perfect!"

Kurt made a non-committal sound before pointedly clearing his throat. "So, what's going on between you and Puckerman? Because although Finn may not be the keenest observer, something obviously set off his Puckleberry radar. And don't you dare leave out a single detail!" he warned.

"There's nothing going on," she replied with an embarrassed sigh. "Unfortunately, I seem to become very… affectionate when intoxicated."

He let out a small gasp. "Oh, Rachel, honey, do not tell me you molested Puck, too! You really need to learn how—"

Thankfully, she couldn't hear what advice he had to impart, as his voice was suddenly drowned out by the bell.

"Sorry, Kurt, I've got to get to homeroom," she said, quickly ending the call before he could say anything else (though, to her annoyance, she did hear his faint chuckle before she hung up).

As she stowed her phone away, she felt the tiniest twinge of guilt, but it quickly passed. After all, she had been completely truthful. There simply was no need to go into further detail (because, really, while she refused to be embarrassed by her drunk dialing any longer, there really was no need to _dwell_ on it, either.)

All that mattered was that there was absolutely nothing going on between her and Noah. They were barely friends, if that, really only speaking to one another when they needed something. This past week had been nothing but a fluke, a series of circumstances created by alcohol, which she was never drinking again. Therefore, everything would go back to normal after he stopped by with the replacement alcohol.

Rachel's eyes widened. The replacement alcohol. Puck was supposed to stop by her house to drop off it after school today, the same time she was supposed to kiss Blaine and cement herself a new boyfriend.

Then her face lit up in a brilliant smile as she realized what this meant.

This was the perfect opportunity to assure Noah that she had no romantic interest in him whatsoever, clearing the air between them without having to explicitly acknowledge the drunk dial (even though it was at the cost of admitting that she had mistakenly double booked her time, which was mortifying in it of itself).

Rachel checked the time. There was just enough time before first period. She hurried around the corner, knowing he would be at his locker instead of in homeroom.

Thankfully, he was alone, though a few students were still loitering in the hall around him. Since she didn't have the time to wait for them to disperse, she marched right up to him with a determined step, heedless of the stares around her.

"Sup, Berry?" he drawled, barely glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

"I have a date with Blaine today right after school," she announced. "Could you possibly stop by with the- the items later tonight?"

"Whatever," he shrugged. "Seven work?"

She nodded, though inwardly she was scanning him for any sign that she did in fact call him (because while she was putting this incident behind her, a little confirmation wouldn't hurt, just for her own piece of mind, right?). He gave away nothing, however, not even so much as an eye twitch.

Instead of feeling relief, Rachel found that she was infuriated. Did she call him or _not_?

Up until this moment, she had been certain she did because of what Finn had said (and of all things, this was not something he would lie about). But based on Noah's behavior now, it seemed as if she didn't do it after all, and Finn was just mistaken. Because, really, though he was a far cry from the boy who had slushied her on a daily basis (and twice on game days because a loss by McKinley's abysmal football team was inevitable), would Noah Puckerman actually pass up the opportunity to tease her mercilessly about something like this?

What she did know was that this uncertainty was unbearable.

She gave a start when he slammed his locker shut and looked down at her with a frown. It was then that she realized that she had been staring at him, an awkward silence hanging between them.

"Anything else?" he asked pointedly.

Mutely, she shook her head, merely standing there frozen in place as he began to walk away.

"Why didn't you tell me that I called you the other night?" she blurted out. Then she bit her lip, a little disgusted with herself at how quickly her resolve had melted away (though in retrospect, her original plan to not say a single word seemed ludicrous; closure was a perfectly natural and necessary thing to have).

He turned back to look at her, his eyebrows raised in amusement. "I thought you didn't remember anything about that night?"

Not expecting him to answer a question with a question, she found herself saying the first thing that came to her mind, which happened to be the truth. "Finn told me," she admitted.

To her dismay, he let out a snort of laughter.

"Yeah, well, I tell Finn lots of shit, just to mess with his head," he revealed, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

"Oh," she said in surprise. while it wasn't the answer she was expecting, it certainly explained everything, didn't it? Then she realized that he had just admitted to using something she had told him (somewhat in confidence) as way to play with Finn's emotions. She fixed him with a disapproving look. "Noah, I know friendships between boys work in unusual ways sometimes, but I really think that—"

To her further displeasure, her words were suddenly swallowed by the ear-splitting sound of the bell. If she didn't know better, she would've sworn Kurt had planned this as some sort of karmic justice.

She tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for the ringing to cease, all the while making a note to speak to Principle Figgins, as she could not risk sustaining any damage to her ear canal.

Finally, it ended. Unfortunately, he jumped in before she could resume speaking.

"Gotta go, Berry. Don't want to be late for class," he said quickly, the annoying smirk still on his face.

Then he turned and walked away without so much as a backward look.

* * *

Rachel signed her pledge form to not drink before Nationals, as did the rest of New Directions.

The meeting with Principle Figgins had gone surprisingly well. At first, she had (understandably) panicked when she learned that he wanted to speak with all of them. Imagine her surprise when he _praised_ them for their performance.

And yes, perhaps she felt a little guilty at the deception, but she certainly wasn't going to admit that she was actually drunk yesterday, and she especially wasn't going to admit that she was the one who had brought the alcohol. (Besides, their unfortunate incident had actually helped the student body to drink more responsibly, so it would actually be a disservice to her fellow students and McKinley High itself to reveal what actually had occurred at the assembly.)

"Okay," Mr. Schuester said, clapping his hands together. "So we're ready to put this assembly behind us, right?"

There were murmurs of agreement around the room.

Mr. Schue nodded. "Good. Now let's talk about this week's assignment. Yesterday's performance was… energetic and larger than life. Which is great. But now I want you all to present a song using restraint."

Rachel frowned. While she understood the point of this exercise, a few weeks before Regionals was hardly the time to teach it. Honestly, how the man could go from being extremely insightful and compassionate to _this_ in less than a minute astounded her. (It was times like these that she sometimes questioned his fitness to teach. His unhealthy obsession with Journey alone spoke volumes.)

Before she could voice her objections, however, Brittany beat her to it.

"I don't think my mom will let me sing tied up or anything like that," the former Cheerio said earnestly.

There was a stunned silence as everyone took in Brittany's words, except for Lauren, who snorted in disdain. Rachel promptly leveled a glare at her, for although she knew that she and Brittany were far from friends, she simply could not ignore Brittany's generosity yesterday in her time of need (even if it was most likely made out of guilt).

Mr. Schue, who was momentarily flustered, cleared his throat. "I, uh, that's not what I mean," he finally said. "By restrained, I mean 'understated' or—"

"I don't think she'll like me just in my bra, either," Brittany said in a loud whisper, a doubtful expression on her face.

Santana turned to face the confused girl. "What Mr. Schue is trying to say is that he wants a song where some of us can just belt out a high note and think they're awesome," she explained patiently. Then she threw a smug look at Rachel. "Can you handle that, Frodo?"

Rachel held her head up as she tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Actually, I already have a song in mind, as I have been listening to a myriad of inspirational singer-songwriters just recently," she said primly.

"You've been studying a lot of songs lately, haven't you?" Quinn muttered under her breath.

Rachel froze for a moment (fervently hoping that didn't mean what she thought it did) before going on as if nothing was amiss. "Yes, I have, in preparation for composing my own song. And now that we're on the subject, I would like to propose once again that we consider spending our energy on an original song for Regionals. Now I know you all shot it down before-"

"Because it's a horrible idea," Mercedes cut in.

Suddenly, the room was buzzing as everyone began talking at once, though mostly just to agree with Mercedes, to Rachel's utter frustration.

Mr. Schue held up his hands to quiet the group. Once he has settled them down, he looked directly at her. "Rachel," he said, not even bothering to hide his exasperation. "We've already talked about this. The group voted and decided to stick with _Sing_. There's nothing left to discuss."

Rachel bit back her anger (and for the tiniest second, she considered pretending she was drunk later that evening, just so she could drunk dial Mr. Schue and give him a piece of her mind).

Instead, she looked pointedly at Finn, who merely squirmed in his seat. Yes, she definitely made the correct decision there, as she was clearly on her own, once again.

"I don't know. Maybe Berry's right."

Everyone swiveled in their seat to look at Puck. Rachel stared, too, though her eyes inadvertently strayed to Lauren every now and then as the obnoxious girl was looking at her like she'd like nothing more than to use her for batting practice. (Whether it was because of Rachel's glare a few seconds ago or something else, she didn't know and she really didn't want to find out.)

"Are you _serious_?" Quinn sniped at him. "You voted against her crazy idea the first time."

Puck shrugged. "Well, I guess I changed my mind. We can't do _Sing_ when Sylvester knows about it. I mean, look what she did last year when she knew our set list. Do we really want to wait until she pulls that shi— that _stuff_ again?"

Everyone exchanged glances at this. Obviously, they hadn't thought of that.

Rachel held her breath as she started to feel a glimmer of hope.

Mr. Schue cleared his throat. "Well, you raise a good point, Puck," he admitted. "Let's think about this. For now, though, let's focus on this week's assignment."

Everyone else listened as Mr. Schue began to explain the parameters of his assignment, but Rachel barely heard a word. (And yes, perhaps it was a little passive aggressive of her, but mostly it was because she was too busy stealing glances at Puck out of the corner of his eye.)

He seemed genuine in his support of her idea. And yet she couldn't help but suspect his motives, especially considering the circumstances as of late.

Then she caught herself. She hadn't called him, so there was no ulterior motive to be found, unless it was to impress Lauren – just like she wanted to impress Blaine.

Rachel smiled as her thoughts turned toward her upcoming kiss, and the new, exciting chapter in her life it would bring.

* * *

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